Raw, Revered
by A. Shieldmaid
Summary: Trouble in the realm; Raw may be the only one who can help. Rated "M" for adult themes/content forthcoming.
1. Chapter 1

_**I.**_

Raw avoided riding horses whenever possible. It was impossible to be a Viewer and remain oblivious to how angry it often made the horse, clambering onto its back and pulling its head around painfully with a metal bit. But when the messenger came to him on the Papé Plains with DG's request, Raw immediately left his apprentice in charge and borrowed a spare palace roan.

But he removed the tack and introduced himself first. And when Greyfell bore him amenably and safely to the palace at Finaqua, Raw bought him on the spot. This made Raw the only Viewer in the entire realm to own twenty-seven equines, none of whom worked unless they became bored and wanted to.

At leaving the Papé, Raw discovered how content he had become among them in this latest tenure undertaken at friend-princess DG's request. They were creatures of great spirit, the Papé, who had in their tongue a hundred and thirty-six words to describe the fruit groves in blossom-living vessels of reverence for the balance of the world around them. At least they had been, until the Witch wearing Princess Azkadelia blasted balance and world into stick and ash, leaving the Papé to become bitter ruthless hunters as outraged as they were starving, or die.

As the effects of the sorceress' destruction were reversed and the lush balance of the Plains was being restored, the Papé's wounds were healing-literally and figuratively. That he had once been hours away from being killed and eaten by the Papé himself was inconsequential to Raw now; it was the gift and curse of the Viewer that one could not experience the fear and suffering of another and remain aloof. Besides-if they had not caught him, he would not know his friends DG, Ambrose-Called-Glitch and Wyatt Cain, for whom he would not now surrender his love for fear or fire. Instead, Raw considered himself well-blessed by fortune and worked happily with his team of Viewers and volunteers to heal the land and the injured or sick Papé as well.

It felt more than a little odd to be walking in this palace again, marble floors cool and smooth through the thin leather soles of his shoes more familiar with sand and rough-worn stone.

Raw walked fast and kept his head down; he did not wish to tarry if DG needed him urgently enough to send riders for him. Also, and Raw still worked to accept that it was likely to always be so, moving through the unfamiliar world of crowds and glib conversation and incomprehensible customs was uncomfortable, confusing, intimidating. He preferred finding his way quickly and with as much stealth as could be had in Finaqua Palace at the nooning time, missing dearly the great empty plains and the serene green forests of his homelands.

To prevent accidental intrusion into the lives of the people he passed on his way to the receiving room, Raw focused his awareness upon DG's summons which, played for him in a small globe of crystal, was rather vague at first view. DG needed his help; that information was enough to bring Raw at a run under any circumstances, and both Raw and DG knew it. She would not call him thus without a compelling reason.

Her sister needed him as well. There was a wealth of possibilities there, ranging from troublesome to worrisome. Unlike some of the peoples of the realm, Raw's folk had welcomed Azkadelia home once the truth of her possession by the Ancient Witch was known and over; how could they not, knowing the nature of every living creature's spirit unless it was shielded from them by strong magic? But even after a year and a half, Azkadelia faced a rough road with some of the tribes and peoples who had lived longest and closest with the atrocities that came to them wearing her face. While they celebrated DG as everything from an avenging demigoddess returned from legend to right the world, to a recovered priceless national treasure-both of which, Raw agreed, DG certainly was-they regarded her older sister with open silence and suspicion and upon occasion, Raw had seen, the hand-fork sign against bad fortune made at the speaking of her name.

And DG had looked weary, apparent even within the watery confines of the crystal globe; more weary than Raw had ever seen her, even at the darkest times of the fight for the realm. _Weary in body_, Raw thought to himself, _weary in spirit._ And that frightened him.

"Well. It really is you. Had to see for myself."

The dry, wry words spoken at his left shoulder cut through Raw's concentration and he looked over to see that a tall icy-eyed man in a battered fedora and a dusty coat had fallen silently and perfectly into step beside him. Raw stopped in his tracks and grinned at him, inordinately pleased at the source of distraction. "Cain," he said, "You are well." It was not a question; the former tin man was still made of tough lines and angles, but his tread was less grim and there was a spring to it Raw had not seen before except in Cain's own memories.

Wyatt Cain nodded. "I am." His mouth quirked slightly. Raw knew it for the former tin man's version of a smile. "Is it always this easy to sneak up on you?"

Raw chuckled. "What is to fear? Raw is strong and among friends."

The former tin man's gaze, cool even within the shadow of his hat brim, fell upon Raw, swept him for a long assessing moment. Then Cain smiled again-his true smile this time, as unrestrained as it was rare. "Can't argue with that."

He offered a hand and only then did Raw reach out to greet him; Wyatt Cain's unease with touch was still palpable. Raw knew that, while part of Cain's reservation was the man's reluctance to be Viewed even accidentally, the majority was rooted in the 8 years of isolation and sensory deprivation he'd spent in a sealed iron suit watching the endless torment of his wife and son. Raw knew it as well as his own name.

So after Cain clasped Raw's hand briefly and let go they fell easily back into walking. "Going to see DG?" He asked.

"Yes. She called Raw. From the Plains of the Papé."

"I heard."

"DG is well?"

The tin-man hesitated in mid-stride, oh so briefly, and lowered his head slightly so the brim of his hat further shaded his eyes. "Last I saw her she was."

Raw waited to see if Cain would elaborate, but was not surprised when Wyatt did not; the man was both discreet and taciturn with subjects much less close to his heart than the younger princess of the realm-something Raw didn't need to View to be very aware of.

"Azkadelia?" He ventured.

Wyatt sighed. It told Raw volumes even though the former tin man changed the subject without answering. "So we could have provided an escort to meet you when you got here, you know. You didn't have to do this alone."

"Raw knows." Raw felt his brow, his nose wrinkle in distaste for formalities he simply could not fathom.

Wyatt chuckled and Raw smiled; the tin man knew him well. "I'm just saying."

Keeping his eyes on the hall ahead of them, Raw said, "Raw likes walking with Cain. Like old times. Without longcoats." He expected no reply, but when he glanced sidelong at his friend, Wyatt was hiding another true smile in the shadow of his hat. Raw considered himself fortunate to see it twice in one visit; it was good to be with friends.

They walked on, sharing the silence between them like a favorite old story.


	2. Chapter 2

_**II.**_

The queen's lavender eyes still unsettled Raw; he had never seen their like elsewhere. When their unworldly gaze lighted on him and lingered, Raw wished he'd taken the time to comb his hair and beard, or at least shaken the travel-dust from his furs. Or that he'd insisted on waiting for DG or Cain or someone else instead of being ushered into Her royal presence, alone. He wished for his friends with a desperation Raw hoped did not show on his face.

"Our daughter thinks most highly of you, Revered Viewer." Her Majesty's voice was cool and seemed to come from much farther away than it should have.

Raw caught himself before asking which daughter the queen meant; he didn't mean to read her, but caught a glimpse of DG in the queen's thoughts. He swallowed and then answered truthfully, "Raw loves DG."

Those uncanny eyes widened and now he caught scent of the queen's confusion. Raw began to sweat.

"Oh God, Mother, stop it." It was DG's voice, and Raw tore his gaze from the queen's to see his friend crossing the floor of the chamber, shadowed closely by the ex-tin man. Raw could have wept with the strength of his relief. "You know damn well what he means."

DG swept past her mother, frowning, to throw her arms around Raw in a grinning embrace. "DG loves Raw, too" she stated fiercely, by way of greeting.

Hugging her, Raw caught glimpses of DG's happiness: _Raw's presence, Raw amid the flowering groves of the Papé's homeland, Wyatt Cain arguing with her, DG sketching her father's hands holding the book he was reading, DG playing a children's string-game with her mother, Cain shaking his head in mock exasperation at some pert comment she'd made, Cain's hands on her arm as he corrected her shooting stance.._. But overtaking and encompassing all that joy was a huge sorrow, dark and dread―all of it attached to images of DG's older sister lying still and pale.

Raw shivered. As DG pulled away from him, he could see in her eyes sudden concern, and knew she'd felt it. This then, is where DG's weariness lived―in this heavy grief for her sister. He wondered if Azkadelia was dying. Or dead.

Somewhere nearby a door was opened and closed, interrupting his thought-path, and a familiar voice scattered it to the winds, saying, "We all love Raw, Your Majesty. There used to be terrible fights about which of us loved him most. Awful fights. Horrible! We should have bled to death a hundred times."

Raw grinned to see Ambrose-Called-Glitch, the queen's advisor returned, striding gracefully across the chamber to join them. It was still a shock, the absence of that silver zipper―mute testimony to the theft of part of Ambrose's brain―which used to bisect his dark curls so starkly. As much as the first time, Raw was ferociously pleased to see instead the natural part in Ambrose's hair since his mind had been reunited.

Ambrose swept Raw with his impertinent grin and winked before continuing to address the queen. "Just ask Wyatt―he'd love to tell you about it." He dropped his voice to a conspiratory whisper, "He's _incredibly_ nostalgic."

The former tin man made a noise in his throat halfway between a snarl and a cough; DG giggled. Raw caught the muttered words, "Damn zipperhead," under Cain's breath even as Cain struggled to maintain his dark frown.

The queen smiled. "Oh, wonderful to see you! Ambrose, I was hoping you'd return. How was the Central City?"

"About what you'd expect this time of year, Majesty. The harvests are coming in. Everyone's either counting or weighing. Or complaining about someone else's counting or weighing." Ambrose made a deep bow to the queen that sent the long tails of his finely cut velvet coat flapping and then turned back to Raw. "And you, my friend. You look wonderful. Rubbing elbows with the Papé has been good to you." Ambrose cocked his head, considering a moment and then frowned. "Do the Papé actually _have_ elbows? Oh, no matter."

He swept Raw into an enthusiastic embrace and Raw hugged him back hard. He'd missed Ambrose, he'd missed Cain, he'd missed DG; he'd missed them all, and now they were together again for the first time in many months. Raw was ready now for anything that may come, lavender eyes and all.

Including the heavy awkward curtain that fell across the mood of the room when Consort King Ahamo entered the room and took a seat beside the queen. Everyone fell silent, acutely aware once again of the reason they were assembled.

Everyone waited for someone else to speak of it first. The brutal tension made Raw's skin itch.

Finally DG turned to Raw. "It's Az. You knew that already." Because it was not a question, Raw waited for her to go on. "She..." DG looked at the floor and then glanced sidelong at Cain who leaned almost imperceptively closer to her. "She's having fits. I don't know how else to say it."

"Dissociative catatonia," Ambrose mused, his eyes gone far away and uncharacteristically somber. "Or a coma, perhaps."

"Our eldest daughter," the queen continued, her eyes filling with tears, "Has struggled since the night of the Eclipse, as you might imagine." When Raw nodded she went on slowly; he could feel her reaching carefully for the right words. "The Witch usurped her life for 15 years and wrought... _unconscionable_ things." A single tear spilled over, tracked its way down the queen's cheek; her voice betrayed nothing. "Azkadelia is... troubled."

"'Troubled'?" Raw frowned, confused. "One word, many meanings."

King Ahamo cleared his throat. "Azkadelia has bouts of despair. In them, she does not speak, she does not eat, she does not move, she does not respond to anyone or anything."

"She shuts down," DG agreed.

"She's been seen by the best doctors and mind-magicians in the realm." The queen had wiped away her tear and there was no sign of it in her voice or face despite the ravening worry and grief Raw could feel emanating from her. Raw began to better understand where some of DG's strength originated.

DG interrupted, casting an unreadable glance at her parents. "Oh, come on. She's seen _all_ of them―from the best shrinks to the skankiest snake-oil salesmen we could pry out from under a rock."

"Snake oil will not help Azkadelia," Raw informed his friend, shaking his head.

DG smiled a little. "It didn't." But then her face became solemn again. "It got worse and worse until she just started shutting down. And now it lasts longer each time."

Raw considered the information. "Raw may see her?" Viewing would tell him far more than Azkadelia's loved ones could in an entire afternoon, and the emotional undercurrents of in the room were too heavy to sort out quickly without being smothered by them.

"I'll take you," DG offered at once, and Raw could hear the depth of her relief; it echoed his own. She cast a last somber look at her parents and added, "_Now."_

* * *

Azkadelia was, just as she appeared in DG's thoughts, lying pale and still as alabaster statue in her bed. Raw wondered if she was as cold as she looked.

"How long?" Raw whispered.

Raw could feel the gnawing fear in the two words DG whispered back, "Two days." She swept back a strand of hair that fell in front of her face and laughed shakily, "I don't know why I keep whispering. It's not like I'm going to wake her up. She just lays there like she's d―" DG covered her mouth with a hand, stricken, her eyes gone huge and dark. Raw reached to take her other hand; it trembled in his. When she was able, DG went on, "I just thought, you know. Maybe if you saw her..."

"Raw will look," he squeezed her fingers gently, "For DG. For Azkadelia."

Turning to Azkadelia, Raw cleared his mind and focused his spirit. She was beautiful, this princess, as much as her sister. But where DG was all the impetuous passion of fire and storm-strike, Azkadelia possessed the remote enduring beauty of ice, of stone. Closing his eyes, he laid a hand across her forehead, and marveled for a moment at how anyone could be so cold and still draw breath. And then the Viewing hit him.

Raw fought for balance and then Viewed carefully, eyes closed, again and again until he was certain. Then, recollecting his spirit, he removed his hand and broke the connection. Only then did he notice he was shivering in his furs hard enough to chatter his teeth. His clenched jaw hurt.

DG regarded him curiously a moment, before bending to retrieve the blanket folded at the foot of Azkadelia's bed. "There's frost in your beard." She noted softly.

And there was; Raw felt it melting beneath his fingers when he raised a hand to his face.

DG reached up to wrap the blanket around his shoulders; it was close-woven and warm and smelled of roses. Raw worked to form his features into a grateful expression without betraying what he knew.

"What did you see, Raw?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper again, and now DG was shivering too. "What's wrong with Az?" Her thoughts careening with images-apples, bears, fairies and flat stones that skimmed placid water―she was fighting not to break; Raw could hear it, feel it, taste it, smell it, see it.

Raw looked down into her wide eyes and loved his friend so much it hurt his heart. Taking both of her hands in his, Raw willed them to be warm.

And then he told her the truth.

"Azkadelia is not in there, DG. Azkadelia is gone."


End file.
